


The Divide

by Huggle



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injustice, Off Screen Violence, protective!Athos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 16:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1654601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Musketeers may stand for justice but they know better than to expect it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Divide

“Tell me,” Athos said. 

Aramis stood in ready silence as D’Artagnan recounted the confrontation at the coach house; the unprovoked belligerence of the Count’s retinue, the harassment of the serving girl.

And how _they_ had stayed true to their nature, their oath, and now Porthos was lying unconscious as a result.

Aramis had already heard the story – it had reached his ears first because he was in the yard when D’Artagnan had ridden in, Porthos barely upright in front of the young Gascon. He had muttered something about a fair fight and then he had tumbled from the saddle. Aramis had barely caught him.

Now, he saw the look on Athos’ face. He could see where this would lead, and when Athos stormed away, Aramis made to follow.

“Was I wrong to tell him?” D’Artagnan said. His face was troubled.

“No,” Aramis said. “He would have found out anyway. Better this way.” At least now they had a chance to contain him. “Stay with Porthos.”

With that, Aramis was hot on his friend’s heels. He had helped the surgeon examine Porthos. He had been ill used, but they all knew that Porthos had suffered worse. He had a solid head. There was nothing to say he would not be awake within the day, and be calling for food and wine to soothe his aches. Some wounds had needed stitching, but beyond that he would survive this fight with a few new scars and that stubborn sense of achievement for not backing down when wiser (or less brave) men would have turned away.

But all Athos would see was that Porthos had been set upon by many and was now lying senseless in his bed. He had seen the dressings. He had heard the surgeon talk of bleeding him, as if he had not lost blood enough already.

Athos was not one to turn the other cheek, not for this.

Aramis caught Athos up as he entered the stable, and instead of summoning one of the hands to bring a horse he began to saddle one himself.

“Think before you rush off to get yourself killed,” he advised.

Athos did not look at him. He guided the horse out into the yard and mounted. 

“Athos,” Aramis said. He caught the horse’s reins with one hand, and rested his other upon the stirrup. “Even Porthos would advise caution, here. Does that not tell you anything?”

“If he would advise caution, it means they hit him harder than you’re telling me. Step back, Aramis.”

Before it could become a confrontation of its own, a voice bellowed down to them.

Aramis looked up to where Treville was watching, hands gripping the rail.

“You will have to wait to go and get yourself killed,” Aramis said.

All the same, he waited until Athos had dismounted and started up the stairs before he handed the reins to the stable boy and followed.

::::

Later, Porthos had exchanged unconsciousness for sleep. He had as expected woken briefly and indulged in a small glass of medicinal wine before flopping back down to rest.

They spoke with hushed voices.

“You mean to say that nothing at all will be done?” D’Artagnan seemed horrified.

Athos sipped from his cup. “It seems the Count is a spy master. He has valuable informants in the English court. Such worth allows many indiscretions.”

Aramis was not taken in by how level Athos’ voice was, how unperturbed. He had known the other man some years now; seldom was Athos foiled. If his path was blocked, he would simply find another way.

This resigned quietness was not fooling him.

No matter what Treville had told them, Aramis knew that Athos could not simply let it go.

“It will not always be so,” he promised. “You know how quickly things can change at court. Favoured one day, forsaken the next.”

Athos looked at him, and Aramis found it difficult to hold his stare. “You heard Treville. As long as De Plain has value, he will be worth more than a musketeer. Or a young girl with a pleasant smile. And if any get in his way, he has his paid men to fight for him.”

Porthos grumbled in his sleep, and D’Artagnan went to check on him.

Aramis saw his opportunity. He crouched before Athos. 

“He cannot be touched by us.”

“Accidents can happen. Mishaps can befall any man.”

“You are not a fool, Athos,” Aramis snapped. “After this, if he falls into a puddle or slits a finger opening a letter or is careless shaving the blame will land at your door. And don’t pretend you _would_ arrange for some misfortune.

“You would be that misfortune. You would wait for him on the road, and challenge him and then be faced with fighting his hired soldiers for he certainly wouldn’t face you himself.”

“Because he has no honour,” D’Artagnan said. 

Aramis didn’t know how long the younger man had been standing there. “Because he is not stupid,” he corrected. De Plain would never accept the challenge of such a superior swordsman as Athos. 

“So he will get away with it.”

Aramis wanted to shake D’Artagnan, but he recognised their friend’s anger at the attack on Porthos, the Count’s behaviour, and now the admission from Treville that where would be no justice. 

“Today,” Aramis said. He stood up, clasped his hand to Athos’ shoulder. “Possibly also tomorrow. But I think he’d do well not to forget our faces. Things do change.”

**Author's Note:**

> For a Musketeer Kink Meme prompt that asked for one of the boys to be injured and the guilty party to be let off for reasons of his importance, and the resultant fall out.


End file.
